


and the wolves will come to take you home.

by sailorshadzter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, GoT au, Jon Snow is King in the North, Rescue Missions, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa, jonsa au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorshadzter/pseuds/sailorshadzter
Summary: set ten years after the stark's leave winterfell, jon has been crowned king in the north, and sansa is queen of the seven kingdoms after marrying joffrey. when jon comes to king's landing, something is born between the two half siblings, something stronger than either of them have ever felt before.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

He's not seen her in nearly ten years.

Despite how long it's been, he can still recall the glimmer of her smile in the morning sunlight, that day she left. He can still remember the pure happiness that lit her up from the inside out. It's been ten years, but he still remembers. 

The King in the North isn't quite certain how he's gotten himself here. Well, that's not true, he supposes, he knows what's brought him here. He's been summoned by King Joffrey (ordered more like it) because of the crown he had accepted just a few weeks before. With the help of the free folk he had befriended during his years with the Night's Watch, Jon had reclaimed Winterfell in the name of House Stark from the Bolton's. And though his last name was Snow, the Northern lords named him their king. He knows it belongs to Sansa, the oldest surviving child of Ned Stark, but his letter to her had gone unanswered. That had left him with little choice but to accept the crown offered to him. He wouldn't let the North fall into usurper's hands ever again. 

"Your grace?" 

He turns, it's Ser Davos, the man he calls his Hand, an unlikely ally he found in Stannis Baratheon's once most loyal man. "Are we close?" Jon asks, gesturing towards the Red Keep just there in the distance. The streets as busy as they ride through, though many stop to gawk at the black clad king in his furs. 

"The archway just here leads right to the Keep," Davos replies, pointing to the stone arch some yards ahead. Etched into the stone is a Lannister lion and a Stark wolf, which Jon finds amusing, considering Joffrey was a Baratheon. It just proved how much control that Lannister witch and her family had over the king and his court. "I'm certain the Lannister's will be waiting for your arrival." Jon smirks and kicks his horse into a faster pace, suddenly quite eager to dismount and find his sister. 

Just as Davos had predicted, the three Lannister siblings stood in a semi circle at the top of the stone stairs, just outside the double doors that would lead inside the Keep. Jon squints as he slows his horse to a stop at the base of the steps, looking up at the golden siblings standinmg just above him. Tyrion Lannister was as he had been when Jon had met him all those years ago, though with a few new scars on his ugly face. Jaime Lannister was still a handsome lion of a man, though his golden hair had been cropped short and he sports a beard. Then there's Cersei, the king's mother, with her green eyes and long, golden hair, he supposes she's a beautiful woman, but not really his taste. She wears a blue gown with sweeping sleeves and gold thread running through the length of the skirt. The elabortate head piece she wears is more like a crown and Jon wonders if Joffrey is even king at all. 

"Welcome to King's Landing, my lord." Cersei is the first to speak, descending a single step, skirts trailing behind her. Her pointed use of my lord makes Jon chuckle and beside him, Davos prickles. "I hope your journey was a pleasant one." Anyone who traveled the road between King's Landing and Winterfell knew it was a long, hard one. 

"It was well enough, thank you." Jon replies, putting a hand in front of Davos to keep him from interrupting. 

They're led up the steps and into the Keep, a massive place that's well lit with a golden glow. The Lannister's are quite rich, he remembers, and considering the Tyrell's they've married into, their riches have only tripled. He catches sight of a set of doors, doors that surely must lead to the throne room. "This way, Jon Snow," Cersei Lannister's voice brings him back, making him realize he's fallen out of pace with all of the others. "You will meet with the king soon enough," her smile is like that of a serpent and Jon can't help but to shudder. He wonders how his sister has lived with these people all these years, when he can't stand them even for a few minutes. 

He's settled into his rooms a few minutes later and Jon can do nothing but pace, now that he's here he feels trapped, he feels like a wolf pacing its cage. 

[ x x x ]

"He's here?"

She turns away from the looking glass, eyes seeking out Shae's gentle brown eyes; Shae was the only person in all of the world that she could trust and when she nods, Sansa knows it's time. A strange warmth rushes through her and she swivels back around in her chair to give herself one last look in the mirror. "I can't believe he's here..." She murmurs as she looks into her own reflection, reaching up a hand to touch the soft coil of braids at the back of her head. Though Joffrey prefers when she wears her hair like his mother, she's adopted a style more seen in the North, a style her own mother had worn more than once. Despite living in the world of the Lannister's, she tries to keep her own Northern roots a part of her. Though Cersei Lannister controls how she walks, talks, and dresses, Sansa never takes off the direwolf pendant from around her neck. It hangs low on a silver chain, given to her by her father many years ago. 

It's been nearly ten years now since she's last seen anyone in her family- and though back then she might have called Jon her bastard brother, now she longs to see him as much as she longed to see any of the others. Not that she could see any of the others, of course. Her mother and father were both dead, Robb was dead, and the youngest ones... Bran, Arya, and Rickon had been missing for several years now. Jon was the only family she had left. 

A knock sounds on her door and she flinches, she can't help it. Shae notices and her heart sinks but she calms her anger so she might turn and open the door. It is Jaime Lannister, come to escort Sansa down to the throne room. "It is time to greet our guest," Jaime says as he steps into the room, eyeing his niece with that same green-eyed gaze of his sister. Jaime offers her his arm and Sansa loops her arm with his, her other lifting her long silk skirts as they began to make their way down the hall. "Your bastard brother is every inch a Stark, you know." Jaime says as they go, surprising the young queen. It was true, she recalled how much Jon had looked like a Stark back when they were kids. Such a thing had made it all the more painful for her mother, that her husband's bastard looked more like him than any of his true born sons. 

They step into the throne room from the back door and she can see that Joffrey already sits upon his. "Husband," she murmurs when she's let go of Jaime's arm and come around front, dipping her husband a quick curtsy. He waves his hand at her, gesturing for her to sit, and she does so, hyper aware of how quickly her heart has begun to beat. It's always like this, she knows, when she must come face to face with her horrid excuse of a husband. Fear creeps into her heart and settles onto her soul, it's an imprint upon her existence. Though Joffrey did not raise a physical hand to her (his men were there for that) he caused her plenty of pain in other ways. 

"I've traded one troublesome Stark brother for another," Joffrey seethes to her as he sits more upright, casting a glare in her direction. "The White Wolf will last about as long as the Young Wolf, I think." He means to insult the memory of Robb, who was called the Young Wolf by all of the North, dead at the hands of the Lannister's order. "And I see you wear a new gown- thinking you might impress your bastard brother?" He asks, his voice scathing, and Sansa keeps her gaze straight ahead. She knows better than to provoke him when he's like this. The last time she'd done such a thing, she'd carried the bruises for weeks. "He'll leave here as Lord Commander or he won't leave at all." He means to continue, but his mother steps up to stand beside his side of the thrones, her gentle touch the only thing able to calm him. 

Up ahead, the doors open and she sees him. 

He is as she remembers him- wild, dark curls with those solemn Stark colored eyes. What Jaime Lannister had told her was true, he was his father's son without question, he was truly a Stark. Seeing him reminds him of Arya and the pain that rushes through her is so strong she must hold her breath to keep from crying out. Jon approaches the dais and bows low, first to Joffrey and then in turn to her. Their eyes meet as he raises his gaze up and she feels her heart skip a beat. "Welcome to King's Landing," Joffrey says, shifting how he sits upon the Iron Throne, his dark green eyes narrowing slightly as they fall upon the Northern bastard. 

Jon cannot believe how beautiful she's become. 

Sansa was always lovely- always the prettiest of the Stark children, everyone said so, but now... She had grown into a creature so lovely Jon was certain she could not be real. Her Tully red hair was long, elaborately braided like a Northern queen, with a golden crown upon her head. Her gown mimicked that of the one Cersei wore, with long sweeping sleeves and a sqaure cut neckline that was just low enough to show off the swell of her breasts. Jon starts, realizing these are all thoughts a man should not have about his sister and so he tears his gaze from hers, but feels empty when he does. "Thank you, your grace." Jon says, hoping his voice does not betray the dozens of thoughts and feelings racing through him. 

"You know why I've sent for you then?" Joffrey asks, settling back, hands gripping the uncomfortable arms of the chair he's sitting in. He hates the Iron Throne, if he's honest, but it is his all the same. "I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms and yet you dare to name yourself King of one of those kingdoms. You and the North are in open rebellion against me." His tone is dangerous, but his eyes are menacing. It would seem the rumors of this king's madness might not have been just rumors. "It is out of the love I bear my queen that I have not had you murdered in your bed," the king spits out, shaking his golden head. Jon spares Sansa a quick glance and notes the look upon her face- as if she is wearing a mask that is moments from slipping. "Denounce your so called throne and bend the knee to me and we will overlook this little act of rebellion." 

Jon returns his gaze to the king and sighs, closing his eyes for one long moment. "No," he finally says when he opens his eyes again. "I cannot do that." He goes on, speaking before Joffrey's anger spilled over. "I was chosen to protect the North and I will do just that." Beside the king, Sansa's face changes, something like relief spreading into her eyes. "I've come for more reason than to challenge you on who rules what kingdom," Jon says, knowing if nothing else, he must do this.

"What else could bring a traitor to his own death?" Joffrey glares at him from where he sits and it is Sansa who looks to him then, her blue eyes full of worry when she hears the tone he speaks in. 

"The Night King is coming." 

Every pair of eyes in the room focus on the King in the North then, all etched with surprise, some even amusement. It is only Sansa who turns to look at him with true concern, having heard the stories of the white walkers during childhood. Of course, most just said the story of the Night King was just that- a story- but seeing Jon's face made her question those stories. "The Night King?" Joffrey laughs, thinking this to be a distraction from the true problem at hand. "You come all this way to speak of ghost stories?" Behind him, Cersei approaches, a hand once again settling upon the king's shoulder. "No matter, such things can be discussed at another time." Joffrey sits up straighter and Cersei steps back. "I have matters of the realm to attend to, we shall talk again, bastard of Winterfell." He rises up to his feet and offers Sansa his arm, which she takes without a word, rising up to surprise Jon with her height. She is tall and thin like a willow tree and he sees now that her hair is so long that it nearly brushes her waist. She casts him only one backwards glance before she vanishes through the door with Joffrey. 

When she's gone, Jon feels cold. 

[ x x x ]

"You must speak with him."

Sansa stares into Shae's eyes, hands clutching together in her lap. "He is your brother, he will help you." Shae goes on, reaching out to touch her queen's shoulder. They have been together several years now and Shae knew this could be the only chance at saving Sansa from the misery that was her life in King's Landing. But, Sansa shakes her head, turning around to face the mirror, reaching up to begin pulling pins from her hair. 

It's late and they've just returned to her rooms from the main hall, having spent many hours drinking and dancing after the feast. Joffrey had been drunk and stumbled off to his own chambers with his latest mistress, leaving Sansa a night alone. "I can't ask such a thing of him." Is all she says, hands lowering only when Shae's take over. Jon could not save her from her fate- no one could. Sansa had long since given up on her dream of being rescued from the abuse of King's Landing and had rather hardened her heart against it. The people of Westeros called her the Ice Queen, a queen who never smiled, a sad queen. And yet they loved her for it. They cheered her on the streets, they prayed for her in their septs, they adored their Northern born queen more than their bastard born king. Most people knew that their king's birth was questionable, all of his siblings were thought to be born of their own uncle's loins, but there were none alive who were brave enough to question it. Sansa's own father had once tried and had lost his head for it.

When the pins have all been pulled from her hair and she's stripped from her long, heavy gown, a knock sounds on her door. Surprise filters through her and Sansa nods at Shae, giving her permission to open it as she tugs her dressing robe on over her white nightgown. Thinking it will be Joffrey or perhaps a maid with a glass of wine, she bends over the trunk at the end of her bed, rummaging through it for the gown she thinks she might wear tomorrow. "Sansa..." The gown falls from her hands as she slowly rises up, turning around at the sound of her name on his lips. It's the first time in years that she's heard her name spoken in such a way, the way her father had once said it. 

"Jon..." She whispers, taking a single step towards him, heart hammering so hard within her chest she thinks surely he must hear it. That is all it takes before he's striding across the room and taking her into his arms, the force of his embrace sweeping her off of her feet. "I can't believe you're here," she whispers into his neck, his arms tight around her waist, hers draped across his shoulders. 

He's breathing in the scent of her; rosewater and tears, her hair as soft as he had imagined it to be. Setting her back onto her feet, Jon cannot let her go and so his hands remain at her her hips, the feel of them sharp beneath his palms. She is thin, he realizes, thinner than a noble woman might usually be, and worry rushes through him. Standing here so close to her, he notices things he had not noticed in the throne room and suddenly the urge to smuggle her away returns to him. "I came because the threat of the Night King is real, but also... I wanted to see you." He admits softly, voice raspy, a thread. It's true, they hadn't had the best relationship as kids, but she was the only family he had left. He had to see her. 

Across the room, Shae ducks behind a curtain, out of sight, but a chaperone to the queen's good name. She knows what will happen if word got out that a man had visited the queen's rooms, half brother or not. "He won't rest until you give up your crown." She says softly, shaking her vibrant red head, blue eyes finding his. "Not with Cersei in his ear." She worries for him now, making an enemy of the Lannister's. She knows what they can do to people they view as a threat. 

"I care little for the crown, it should be yours, anyways." Jon says with a shake of his own head. "It won't matter when the Night King comes. He will kill us all if we don't do something to stop him." In the movements of their embrace, the long chain she wears tucked against her chest has come loose and it hangs over her gown, prompting Jon to reach for it. It's a well made silver direwolf pendant, something Ned Stark had given her for her nameday that summer before they had all left Winterfell. Returning his gaze to hers, Jon smiles, his heart skipping a single beat. When Sansa's lips curve with a smile of her own, Jon feels a warmth rush through his entire being, a feeling quite unlike anything he's ever felt before. 

She gestures then for him to sit and she pours him a goblet of ale from the pitcher on her desk. They settle into chairs and they begin to talk; they talk until they laugh, until they cry. They talk about the past and they talk about the present. It isn't until hours before the morning call comes that they part ways, Jon returning to the rooms given to him earlier that day. "Get some sleep," she says as he slips from her rooms and into the darkened hall, unaware of the eyes that watch him go from around another corner. 

When she shuts the door behind him, Sansa leans back against the door, her heart racing. She dares not feel happy, but she can't stop the flicker of it from rising up in her body. For the first time in years, she had something to hold onto. 

But she was right to be wary, for what good thing would ever truly last?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon must leave King's Landing but when he returns home, he's got a plan in mind to rescue Sansa from the nightmare that is her life in King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning:  
abuse.

When her door slams open, she's already standing. 

Joffrey strides into her room, Ser Meryn close behind him, the ugly excuse for a knight glaring at her as he comes to stand just behind the king. She's seen this before, she knows what's to happen next, and she waves away her frightened ladies before the violence can begin. Even Shae vanishes along with the maids, leaving Sansa alone with her husband and his guard. "You dishonor me," Joffrey hisses when the door has closed behind her ladies. Sansa wonders where Shae will go, for it is unlike her to rush from the room in such a way, usually it is Joffrey that forces her most loyal lady from the room. "Did you think I would not hear of your nightly visitor?" Joffrey takes a step closer to where Sansa stands, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. "Your own brother... You disgust me, whore." 

"It is you that dishonors me," Sansa spits out before she can stop herself. "You think so little of me that I would lie with my own brother-" the fist connects with her mouth before she can finish and she staggers, stumbling with pain over her skirts as she tries to flee the next hit. But Ser Meryn has been doing this a long time and he knows her moves as well as he knows his own. The next blow knocks her to the ground and she puts an arm up to shield her face from the next swing, but it does not come. 

"Hold, Ser Meryn," Joffrey's eeriely calm voice breaks into the room and Sansa only looks up when the footsteps approach her. Joffrey reaches out a hand, helping her onto her trembling feet, the look in his eyes more frightening than any hit Meryn could dish out. "Let this be a reminder to you," he says, reaching out to touch the bruise rising at the corner of her rosy lips. "Come," his hand falls away and he turns on his heel, striding from the room without even a backwards glance, Meryn following close behind him. 

The moment they've gone, Sansa sinks into the nearest chair, the one in front of her looking glass, and she lets out the breath she's been holding. She does not cry for there are no tears left to be had- instead she suffers in silence, pain radiating from where Meryn had hit her in her gut. She thinks back to the last time he hit her there and what such a hit had cost her, only a few weeks before Jon's arrival at King's Landing. You may never love the king, but you will love his children, Cersei had once told her. But she had cried the night she realized she carried his child, knowing it would forever tie her to this family, this life. The night she miscarried that same child, she cried with guilt over how happy she secretly was. 

Her thoughts are interrupted then by the door opening and for a moment, she's afraid Joffrey has come back again. But it's Shae that comes through the door, followed closely by Jon who's worry is written all over his face. He comes to a slow stop in front of where she sits, his dark Stark colored eyes widening ever so slightly. With a shaking hand, Jon reaches for her, tilting her head back just enough to give him a better view of her face. White hot anger rushes through him, anger like he's never felt in all of his life. Gently, tenderly, he swipes his thumb across the spot she's been so clearly hit, a bruise forming beneath the blood. Where she sits, Sansa's heart skips a beat as his eyes meet hers. "Who did this to you?" His question is soft and she can hear the strain in his voice as he fights to remain calm. 

Sansa can say nothing as she pulls from his grip and turns away, unable to look him in the face. Jon doesn't need her answer to know the truth and he takes a step back, as if he intends to leave the room and seek out her abuser. "Please, wait." Sansa speaks for the first time, her voice turning him back around. "You musn't do anything." She goes on, rising up from her chair, red hair falling across a shoulder as she steps closer to where he stands. "You don't know what he's capable of." The last thing she wants is for her last remaining brother to die at the hands of Joffrey's loyal kingsguard. "Go back home where you will be safe. Please, Jon." 

Jon cannot speak as he takes in the sight of her there, pleading with him to return home. He knows without anyone telling him that this was not the first time she fell victim to his abuse and that alone is enough to make him want to pummel Joffrey til he was unrecognizable. "I can't leave you here," he says softly, shaking his head. "I won't let him touch you ever again. I'll protect you." She smiles sadly and shakes her head, a despairing sight that breaks Jon's heart. 

"No one can protect me." Is all she can say, sinking back into the chair she had previously vacated. "Father tried, he lost his head for it." She reminds him bitterly, reaching into her gown to take hold of the chain she wears. Pulling it free, she clings to the pendant, as if the silver direwolf will give her the strength she needs to keep going. "I would rather suffer than lose anyone else." She whispers, so softly that Jon thinks for a moment he's only imagined her words. But then their eyes meet and he's sinking down to her level, taking her into his arms, holding onto her as if she is all that anchors him to this world. 

When he releases her a few moments later, he's looking into her tear-filled eyes with his own damp ones, realizing right then and there that he would do anything to save her. Though they have been apart all these years, though they never looked upon each other as siblings before, he knew he would do anything for her. "Winter is coming." He says lowly, watching as her face changes, as a smile slowly spreads across her battered lips. "Remember that, sweet sister." He murmurs as he rises up, though she pauses him before his spine can straighten, only so she might hang the direwolf pendant around his neck instead. Something told her he needs it more than she does. Jon traces his finger across its outline and he swears he's filled with a renewed sense of strength, of faith. He stands upright then and leans over her to press a kiss against her forehead, holding onto her just a moment longer. 

And then he is gone. 

[ x x x ]

When word reaches Joffrey that Jon Snow has vanished from King's Landing, the entire castle hears his roar of displeasure. Though he threatens to send an army after him, Cersei convinces him otherwise and instead he kills a whore to ease his anger. In the days that follow Jon's disappearance, she's kept in her rooms, guarded at the door by a man or two of Joffrey's choosing and she knows she's become a prisoner once again. 

But at least she's left alone, she thinks on the third morning she wakes up alone, wondering how long this reprieve will last. Her mind turns to Jon then and she hopes his journey back North is going well. Though she misses the sight of him, she knows that this is for the best, that he is safer from harm back at Winterfell. She knows soon Joffrey will talk of war against the North and she's afraid for him more than she fears for herself. 

"Your grace," it is Shae's voice that draws her thoughts away from her half brother. Turning to face her, Sansa is surprised to see her holding out a letter to her. Taking it into her own hands, she sees the unbroken Stark seal and her breath catches in her throat. Somehow, someway, Jon has sent a letter to her without it being seen or read by a Lannister source first. It takes her only a moment to realize that Shae has helped with this and yet again, her loyal lady has put her own life on the line for her. 

With slightly shaking hands, she unrolls the parchment and begins to read the few words written.

_Sansa,_   
_Keep an eye on the Northern sky. I will come for you just as winter comes for us. _   
_I promise. _   
_Jon_

She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, her heart hammering hard within her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she has hope. 

[ x x x ]

The first night he sleeps back at Winterfell, he dreams of her. 

She's vivid in the darkness of night- with her red hair and blue eyes, she shines like the moon above. And when he wakes, he finds he's longing for her in a way a man longs for a woman. She is the thought running through his mind when he spills his seed into his hand, a sinful pleasure that rocks him to the core. But even so, he wants to do it again.

When he finally pulls himself from his bed and dresses, there comes a knock to his chamber door. It's Tormund standing there when he opens it, Ghost at his heels as he strides into the room. "Little crow, you're back." The man says as the door falls closed behind him and Ghost dances between them, nose into Jon's palm. "And in one piece. A true feat for a Stark man." 

"I'm not a Stark," Jon says at once, shaking his head as he runs his hand along Ghost's shaggy back. "I have something to ask of you." He goes on, lifting his gaze from Ghost to his friend, his ally. This wildling man has stood beside him all this time- he knows its unfair of him to ask anything else of him and his men, but... To save her, to save Sansa... It would be worth it. "It's my sister, Sansa..."

"The queen?" Tormund asks, arching a brow. 

"She needs my help. She needs the North." 

Tormund surveys him for a long moment before he gives a nod. "Will it be war?" He asks, rubbing his hands together with an excited sort of smile. "I'd love to take down a few of those Lannister bastards." The reach of the Lannister's is far and wide, even the Wildlings hold grudges against the golden haired rulers. 

War... Indeed, he would go to war if it meant saving Sansa from the horrors in which she lived. "If it comes to that, yes," Jon finally says. He's not a stupid man, he knows Joffrey Baratheon will not give in so easily. He will not trade his queen and bride for nothing, if for anything. "You understand what I'm asking of you, don't you?" Jon asks the man that has slowly become one of his most trusted brothers. It was not just a squabble among houses, this was the destruction of a crowned king, the dismantling of an entire house. Tormund holds his gaze for several seconds before he nods; the Wildlings followed Jon now, he was their king and they would follow him anywhere. They would fight in any war, any battle, if it was what Jon Snow asked of them. 

"We'll need a plan." Tormund says then, knowing as well as Jon that this would not be a normal battle plan. 

"I think I may already have one." Jon admits, though he knows it to be a longshot. "No one else will know, no one but you." He knows it might not work and it would be the death of him and possibly even Sansa, if it failed. But he thinks of her, with her bruising face and wobbling smile, and knows he will not fail. He will save her, if it's the last thing he does. 

[ x x x ]

"The king requests you dine privately with him this evening." 

It isn't a request, it's an order. 

Sansa nods and the man backs from the room with a bow, leaving her yet again locked within her rooms. It's been days since she's heard from Joffrey, days since she's been released from her chamber. She's been here before and she expects to meet with Joffrey who will speak sweetly and offer her a bolt of fine fabric or perhaps a new jewel as a peace offering between them. Things will be well for a week, perhaps even two, but then things will fall back as they are now. It is a neverending cycle. 

  
"The blue silk," she says to Shae, indicating the gown that is Joffrey's favorite of hers. Shae takes it from where it is folded in a trunk, shaking it out and then laying it flat across the bed. Rising up from where she sat, Sansa crosses the room to stand beside the bed, turning her back to Shae so she might begin to unlace her from the old gray gown she was wearing. She slips into the silk gown- fashionably cut in the style Cersei favored, with long sweeping sleeves and an underskirt of white. Her hand strays to her neck, bare without the silver pendant she'd given to Jon some weeks before, though she swears she knows every time he touches it. She doesn't know how, but she does. In it's place, Shae clasps a golden pendant set with crystal, a piece given to her several years ago by Joffrey for her nameday. 

By the time the knock on her door sounds, she's dressed and waiting, sitting in the window seat of her room. In the distance, she can see the sea, and as always she can only wish she were sailing away from here. "Your grace..." It is Shae, reminding her that she's been sent for. A sigh escapes her lips but she stands, smoothing her skirts before she allows Ser Swann to escort her to Joffrey's rooms. 

When she's given entrance to his room, she finds him lounging on his canopied bed, white shirt rumpled, his doublet carelessly tossed aside. "My queen," he greets, his voice like honey, a voice she's heard before. A voice dripping with danger. "I hope you are well," he says as he climbs from the bed to come towards her, pulling her close enough so he can plant a kiss against her cheek. He smells of ale. 

"I am," she responds with a smile she hopes is as sweet as her voice sounds. 

"Come, I've had dinner prepared for us." 

For some reason, she wonders if he means to poison her. But as they sit down on either side of the table, Joffrey at once reaches for the single plate in the the center of the table, ladden with roasted meat. If he eats from the plate, she knows she's safe. At least for now. "I have had news from the North." Joffrey speaks, not wasting another moment to make it clear why he's invited her to his rooms on this night. "Interesting news, in fact." His lips curve with a smirk before he shovels in a bite of boiled potatoes, swallowing down the last of his goblet of wine before he speaks on. "Can you guess what such news could be?" 

She blinks, wondering if this is a test of some kind. With Joffrey, she doesn't always know what to expect from him. What amuses him one moment might enrage him the next, so she must always tread carefully. "I know not, my lord," she speaks, choosing honesty, knowing that any chance he has to feel superior is a win for his ego. Joffrey's smirk widens at her words. 

"It would seem that your bastard brother has bent the knee..." He watches as Sansa's face changes, her surprise registering. "To the Targaryen woman who sits in Dragonstone as we speak." It was a surprise to everyone when they learned that Daenerys Targaryen still yet lived and now sat in Dragonstone under the title of Queen of the Iron Throne. She claimed that it was she who was the rightful heir to the throne that Joffrey sat upon. Her heartbeat quickened, skipping a beat as she sits a bit straighter, unable to find her voice. "Your own brother has given up your birthright to a foreign queen." Joffrey tilts his head, watching her closely. "He has called himself king in a kingdom that belongs to me and now he gives it to a woman who claims my throne belongs to her." His fist slams down on the table, shaking the porcelain dishes, making her jump. "Your bastard brother continues to beg me to bring war to his door!" Joffrey pins her with his dark green eyes, narrowed in his anger, fist still clenched atop the table. "What say you, wife? He is your brother, tell me what I should do with him." 

For several long moments, she remains silent. She knows she can't stay quiet forever and so she reaches for her wine goblet, draining the last drops before she speaks. "It would seem then that you should fight with this Daenerys rather than my foolish bastard of a brother," she speaks in a calm tone, keeping her face straight as Joffrey sits up straighter in his chair. "She is the true threat to your throne, is she not?" Sansa doesn't understand why Jon would have done such a thing as this, but she trusts him. "She contests the claim of your crown, that is far more important than who truly holds power in Winterfell. She insults you by claiming it is hers, why she insults your mother as well, for she must call you a bastard, unfit for the crown. To think she so openly names your mother a whore." Sansa knows these words have done it, they have taken root in his brain and now Jon is pushed from his thoughts. 

"You are right," Joffrey spits, sitting back in his chair, his plate of food abandoned. "I will make her regret ever laying claim to what is mine." 

"Perhaps... If I might make a suggestion..." Sansa begins, speaking carefully, slowly. Joffrey raises his gaze to meet hers and nods, giving her permission to continue on. "You should invite her here," he blinks, listening closely to what she's saying now. "Invite her here and offer her the chance to bend the knee to you, as she should. Offer her a deal, she bends the knee and she may remain a lady of your court or may retire to Dragonstone to live quietly." Silence descends and Sansa can only hope that Joffrey likes her idea- bringing the Targaryen queen to King's Landing might be her saving grace. It might be what Jon was trying to do. "Or..." She pauses, holding fast to his green eyed gaze. "Or you might invite her here and deal with her." 

Joffrey's face nearly splits wide with his wild grin. "Clever wife, you are wiser than you let on it would seem." Ah yes, invite his enemy under the pretense of peace, only to have her murdered in her bed. "Yes, let us indeed invite this Daenerys Targaryen here, we will show her the true power that holds the Iron Throne." He returns to his meal, his spirits raised considerably, and sure enough before she returns to her rooms that night he presents her with a bolt of pale pink silk as a peace offering between them. "Come to my bed, wife," he whispers in her ear. It is another order, rather than a request. Sansa's heart sinks but she nods all the same, keeping her smile in place as he leads her towards the canopied bed. 

She can only hope that Daenerys Targaryen brings her dragons and rains fire upon King's Landing. 

[ x x x ] 

Later, when Joffrey snores beside her in the grand bed, she lays awake. 

Keep an eye on the Northern sky... Jon's written words echo in her mind, the only thing that gets her through the long days. 

Quietly as she can, she slips from the blankets and tiptoes across the room to stand at the window. Daybreak is on the horizon, the blackened sky beginning to fade into the softest shade of pink and gold she's ever seen. From behind the thick glass, she hears the strain of the wind, calling out to her like the call of the wolf. It's Lady she's thinking of then, with her big golden eyes and soft fur, lost to her many years now. She pushes the window open, breathing in the sweet summer air that flows in, her heart suddenly beating wildly in her chest.

That's when she hears it- it is not the wind that blows, but the lone cry of a wolf.

She starts, knuckles white as she clings to the windowsil, half hanging from the window in her effort to hear it again. It comes again, a mournful sound that raises the hair on the back of her neck, that sends chills racing down her spine. Ghost... She thinks without warning, knowing it was Jon's wolf that cries out to her this way. It's then that the warm air turns icy cold, stealing her breath, reminding her of the childhood she's long since left behind. It's as if she can feel the brushing of Lady against her knees, it's as if she's patting her beneath the table at dinner. For a moment, she can hear Grey Wind's bark and Nymeria's howl. She can see Summer running through the courtyard, Shaggydog on his heels. For a moment, she can see the glimmer of red eyes as Ghost watches her from the shadows. 

_Winter is coming..._ When she opens her eyes, the wind is warm and the ghosts of the wolves have faded away... But she knows...

Jon is coming for her.


End file.
